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The holographic displays continued to pulse with their ominous warnings, painting the medical room in shifting red light. Yasuo stared at the three marked locations, his mind working through implications that grew more disturbing with each passing second. If his arrival was connected to these tears in reality, then he wasn't just a refugee from another world he was evidence of something far more dangerous.
Fury dismissed the displays with a gesture, and the wall returned to sterile white. His single eye remained fixed on Yasuo with an intensity that suggested he was weighing factors beyond the obvious, calculating odds and potential outcomes with the precision of a general planning a campaign.
"Here's how this plays out," Fury said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation even as he presented options. "Option one: you agree to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. as a consultant on this dimensional crisis. You help us understand what's happening, how you got here, and what we're dealing with. In exchange, we give you resources, training facilities, access to information about this world, and most importantly " He paused for emphasis. " we don't lock you in a cell while we figure out whether you're a threat."
"That's option one," Yasuo said flatly. "What's option two?"
"There is no option two that you'd prefer." Fury's expression didn't change, but the implicit threat was clear as shattered glass. "You're an unknown entity with abilities our scientists can't explain, appearing at the exact moment someone starts tearing holes in reality. From a security standpoint, the smart play is to contain you until we understand what we're dealing with." He crossed his arms. "But Rogers here seems to think you're one of the good guys, and Romanoff's instincts say you're not a threat. I've learned to trust their judgment, which is why I'm offering you a choice instead of making the decision for you."
Steve shifted slightly, drawing Yasuo's attention. "It's not a trap, Yasuo. Fury's direct, but he's straight with people. If he says you'll be treated as a consultant, he means it."
"Consultant," Yasuo repeated, tasting the unfamiliar word. "Meaning I work for you, but not as a soldier. Not as someone bound to follow orders."
"Meaning you help when we need expertise only you can provide," Fury clarified. "Your dimensional origins, your unique abilities, your perspective from a world operating on completely different rules. In return, we help you survive in ours. Food, shelter, documentation that says you exist legally, training to understand modern technology all the things you'll need if you're going to be here for any length of time."
It was a reasonable offer. More than reasonable, considering Fury could simply lock him away as a security risk and throw away the key. But the cynical part of Yasuo the part shaped by years of being hunted recognized the chains being offered even when they were painted gold.
"And if I refuse?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Then I invoke security protocol Delta-Seven, which classifies you as a dimensional anomaly of unknown threat potential." Fury's tone remained neutral, but his eye hardened. "You spend the next several weeks in a comfortable but very secure facility while our scientists run every test short of vivisection. Eventually, we figure out what you are and what you can do. Eventually, we determine you're not a threat. But by then, those reality tears might have already torn this world apart, and you'll have spent the crisis locked in a box instead of helping prevent it."
The silence that followed carried weight. Steve looked uncomfortable with the implicit threat, but he didn't contradict Fury which told Yasuo this wasn't an idle bluff. This was how this world operated. How this organization operated. Cooperation earned freedom. Resistance earned containment.
Different world. Same fundamental principle: power determined options.
"You're asking me to trust you," Yasuo said. "To believe that if I help, you'll honor your commitments. That I won't simply become another weapon you aim at problems."
"I'm asking you to make a pragmatic choice." Fury stepped closer, his posture radiating controlled authority. "You're in a world you don't understand, with powers that barely work, no allies except those in this room, and a crisis brewing that might be directly connected to your presence here. You can either work with people who have resources and information, or you can face all of that alone while we treat you as a potential threat." He paused, letting the words settle. "What would a pragmatic warrior choose?"
The question cut through Yasuo's defenses. Fury wasn't appealing to honor or justice or any of the ideals Steve Rogers embodied. He was speaking the language Yasuo understood best survival. Tactical assessment. Choosing the path that offered the best chance of living through what came next.
And damn him, he was right.
Yasuo had no allies here. No resources. No understanding of this world's rules or dangers. His wind techniques were shadows of their former strength, his Sharingan drained him with every use, and he'd already pushed his body to the breaking point once. Pride might demand he refuse, might insist he forge his own path as he had in Runeterra.
But pride had never kept him alive. Pragmatism had.
"I'll work with you," Yasuo said, the words coming easier than expected. "On one condition."
Fury's eyebrow rose fractionally. "You're not exactly in a bargaining position, but I'll hear it."
"If we discover that my presence here is endangering this world if whatever brought me through is using me as a beacon or anchor for something worse " Yasuo met Fury's eye without flinching. " you send me back. Or you end me. Whichever prevents the greater harm."
Steve started to protest, but Fury raised a hand, silencing him. The Director studied Yasuo for a long moment, and something like respect flickered across his features.
"You'd volunteer for execution if it meant protecting a world you've been in for less than a week?"
"I've already died once," Yasuo replied quietly. "If my second life endangers millions, then that life isn't worth preserving. I won't let innocent people pay for my existence."
"Noble." Fury's tone was unreadable. "Stupid, but noble. Fine. If it comes to that, we'll handle it. But let's focus on the more immediate problem stopping whoever stole that dimensional technology before they crack reality wide open." He pulled out a phone, speaking into it with crisp efficiency. "Romanoff, you're up. Meet us in Medical Three."
The door opened less than thirty seconds later, and Natasha entered with the fluid grace Yasuo was beginning to recognize as her baseline. She'd changed from her tactical suit into more casual clothes dark jeans, a fitted jacket but somehow managed to look no less dangerous. Her green eyes swept the room, assessing the situation with practiced speed.
"Director," she acknowledged, then shifted her attention to Yasuo. "You look marginally less like death. That's progress."
"Romanoff, meet your new assignment." Fury gestured at Yasuo with economical motion. "Yasuo here has agreed to consult on our dimensional crisis. You're his handler. Monitor him, help him adapt to the twenty-first century, keep him alive, and report anything unusual directly to me."
Natasha's expression didn't change, but Yasuo caught the slight tightening around her eyes that suggested she had opinions about this assignment. "Babysitting duty. How delightful."
"Call it what you want. You saw what he did with the Hulk reached Banner when no one else could. That's a useful skill set, which means keeping him functional is a priority." Fury turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Oh, and Romanoff? He's not a prisoner. He's a consultant. That means you don't shoot him unless he gives you a really good reason."
"Define 'really good,'" Natasha said dryly.
"Use your judgment. That's why I'm assigning you instead of Barton you're less likely to shoot first and rationalize later." With that, Fury swept from the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.
Steve cleared his throat. "Well. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Yasuo. It's usually less ominous than this." He extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Yasuo gripped it. The handshake was firm, honest, the grasp of someone who meant what he said. "You need anything, let me know. And don't let Fury's attitude fool you he looks out for his people."
"Even the ones he threatens to imprison?"
"Especially those ones. Means he thinks you're worth the trouble." Steve released his hand and nodded to Natasha. "Take care of him. And Yasuo? Get some rest. Something tells me you're going to need it."
After Steve left, Natasha moved to the medical equipment, checking readings with the competence of someone who'd spent significant time in similar facilities. "The doctors cleared you for discharge an hour ago, but Fury wanted to wait until he'd made his pitch. Can you walk, or do I need to find a wheelchair?"
"I can walk." Yasuo swung his legs off the bed, testing his weight carefully. His body ached in places he didn't know could ache, but everything functioned. The IV came out with practiced ease Natasha's hands steady and efficient and within minutes, they were moving through corridors of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.
The building was massive, a complex of intersecting hallways and secure areas that spoke of military precision married to cutting-edge technology. Personnel moved with purpose, many in tactical gear, others in lab coats or business attire. Everyone who passed gave Natasha respectful space, and more than a few curious glances landed on Yasuo.
"You're going to attract attention," Natasha said, leading him through a security checkpoint that required retinal scans and palm prints. "Guy with red eyes, hospital clothes, walking around with one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents. People will talk."
"Let them. I'm past caring what strangers think of me."
"Good attitude for this place. Half the people here think I'm a Russian spy waiting to betray everyone." She said it casually, but Yasuo's enhanced hearing caught the slight edge beneath the words. Old accusation. Old wound.
"Are you?" he asked.
"Depends on the day." The ghost of a smile touched her lips. "But today, I'm your handler. Which means getting you set up with quarters, clothes that don't scream 'hospital escapee,' and a crash course in modern technology before you accidentally break something expensive."
They reached an elevator that descended deeper into the facility. When the doors opened, they revealed a residential level more like a high-end apartment complex than military housing. Natasha led him to a door marked 347, pressing her palm to the scanner beside it.
"Temporary quarters," she explained as the door opened. "Not luxurious, but functional. Bedroom, bathroom, small living area. Computer terminal for research, though your access is limited until Fury clears you for higher security levels."
The space was indeed functional clean lines, minimal decoration, a window that looked out over what appeared to be a training yard several floors below. After days of hospitals and chaos, the simple privacy felt like luxury.
"Clothes in the closet, should fit reasonably well based on your measurements," Natasha continued, moving through the space with the efficiency of someone giving a briefing. "Kitchen access is communal, down the hall. Training facilities are sub-level three. Medical is well, you know where that is." She turned to face him fully. "Questions?"
"Why you?"
The directness of it made her pause. "Why am I your handler? Because Fury trusts me to be objective. Because I speak enough languages that communication won't be an issue. Because " She hesitated, then continued with unexpected honesty. " because I know what it's like to wake up in a world that's moved on without you. To be displaced and struggling to find your place."
The admission hung between them, another glimpse past her professional mask. Before Yasuo could respond, she moved toward the door.
"Get some rest. Real rest, not the unconscious-from-trauma kind. Tomorrow, we start catching you up on everything from how to use a smartphone to which Avengers you should avoid annoying." She paused at the threshold. "And Yasuo? Whatever Fury said about monitoring you I'm not your jailer. You cooperate, I'll advocate for you. Fair?"
"Fair," he agreed.
After she left, Yasuo stood in the center of his temporary quarters, surrounded by unfamiliar technology and the strange quiet of institutional walls. The exhaustion he'd been holding at bay crashed over him like a wave, but something pulled him toward the window.
He opened it, letting in the cool evening air. Below, the training yard was empty, lights casting long shadows across obstacle courses and combat rings. Beyond the facility's walls, the city glowed with its endless electric radiance, a universe away from Ionia's natural beauty.
The wind touched his face, gentle and tentative. And for just a moment a fraction of a second that might have been imagination or exhaustion it carried something more than air.
A whisper. A voice. Achingly familiar.
"Brother."
Yasuo's breath stopped. His hand gripped the windowsill hard enough to hurt.
"Your real trials are just beginning."
The voice was Yone's. Impossible, undeniable, carrying the same cadence and timbre that had haunted Yasuo's nightmares for years. But twisted now. Distant. As if speaking from beyond death itself, across the void between worlds.
Then it was gone, leaving only normal wind and the distant sounds of the city.
Yasuo stood frozen, his heart hammering, his mind racing. Hallucination born from exhaustion? Trauma manifesting as phantom sounds? Or something worse evidence that whatever had brought him to this world was far from finished with him?
He closed the window with shaking hands, his reflection staring back from the glass. Same face. Same eyes. But in this moment, he looked exactly as lost as he felt.
"What have I been brought here for?" he whispered to his reflection.
The only answer was silence, and the growing certainty that Fury's dimensional crisis was going to be far more personal than anyone realized.
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